


Earthrise at Christmas

by travellinghopefully



Series: Whouffaldi Week 2016 [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, They argue, Whouffaldi Week 2016, he's anxious, she's pregnant ok, tinge of angst, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, whouffaldi week 2016, day 2.....(how many months ago was that?), prompt for day 2, "this was a bad idea", TARDIS, chicken soup. Continues on loosely from Dandelions and Orange Peels. So, Clara is pregnant - some of you don't like this (love to know why, but anyway), if this isn't your thing - skip this! Her family features, a bit. Two chapters, just because - will attempt to finish quickly.....(falls over laughing).</p><p>(And, why yes, I do listen to Van Morrison)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earthrise at Christmas

Earthrise, endlessly romantic, dancing on the moon. No, no Courtney. Something about the way the straps were cinched, yeah, something about that. Running the tip of her tongue over her parted lips, yeah, a thing, definitely a thing.

Murmuring against her, head tucked against her shoulder, swaying gently in each others arms, singing softly, had he told her lately that he loved her? Romantic, that was a thing too.

Fingertip just brushing the tiny hairs over her navel, hot breath ghosting over the goose bumps. Aroused or ticklish, it didn’t matter. Arm around her hips, under her, grasping her arse, lifting her, fitting her against him. Mornings like this. 

The breeze was gentle, the ripples just fracturing the reflection of the sky. The splash or plop of fish, the ridiculous honking of aggravated geese, the enquiring rasp and quack of ducks, other birds neither of them could name (that seemed to be a thing), intersections of concentric rings, probably a grebe, distant voices, dog walkers, somewhere a car alarm, definitely a swan. 

Real spring, warm enough to discard gloves and hats and scarves, cool enough to sit close, her wrapped in the shelter of his embrace. Somewhere a high speed train, she wondered where it was headed, who was on it, what were their lives were like? Were they astonishing; were they impossible; did they see wonders? Did the fabric of the universe lie on their shoulders?

They both started to speak and stopped, enough of their thoughts audible to reassure, to make talking unnecessary, for now. Grateful for time and space; without the need for words; for harmony; for understanding. Bum going numb on cold stone steps, an ill considered refusal of the comfort of his jacket. Trying to decide if it was Lily of the Valley pushing through the soil, remembering her mother had carried that at her wedding. The fragrance; the flowers; fleeting; wistful; sad. She snuggled deeper into his embrace.

One sweetie wrapper, part of a plastic cup impervious to the battle of decomposition, still the competing honks. Heavy machinery nearby, the space they were in, not really natural, an old gravel pit? A goose gliding closer, investigating, questing, neither with grain, or cake or crumbs or bread, it looked disgusted. He spoke goose, of course he did, he didn’t translate, neither polite nor edifying, he wouldn’t sully her ears. She giggled, she wasn’t certain anyone had ever used that word in her hearing.

“This was a bad idea.”

“Dreadful, the worst.”

“You weren’t meant to agree with me. Then, or now.”

“Either, both, neither, maybe?”

“Well, that’s fine, I’m completely clear about that then!”

“What did you think would happen?”

“We were lucky to get out of there before you were committed and I was arrested. You rehearsed what you were going to say in your head, didn’t you?”

The slightest nod.

“Your Gran took it well, seemed understanding, didn’t have a problem. What was it she asked you and why did Dave say, I still didn’t sound Swedish?”

Staring at the water, something beneath the surface, not quite visible, the motion making her suddenly queasy, he rubbed and traced soothing patterns over her stomach. Morning sickness her arse, it was afternoon, evening, night and morning and every other bloody point in between. She refused to countenance it was a thing, not that he was allowing her running from monsters, any hint of running from monsters, any brisk walking in the vicinity of monsters, but, that was entirely moot as she spent a disproportionate quantity of her time revisiting anything she’d eaten in excruciating detail. He pulled a flask of ginger ale and a packet of ginger nuts from his pocket, the goose looked affronted. 

“Not for you, for emergencies.”

She sipped, she chewed, she thought calm, placid, tranquil, not throwing up thoughts. She had envisaged serene, flowing, elegant, not sweaty, uncomfortable, sick, and the size of a successful whale. It would have helped if he hadn’t agreed, or compounded it by saying how much he liked whales. Nothing fitted, she had commandeered all his jumpers and hoodies for her own, they fitted she reasoned. They reminded her of him, settled round her for the moments his arms were absent.

Made him a crown of daisies, the scent of early blossoms heady and sweet, drowsy sluggish bees barely buzzing.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They argued, he was smothering her, she was irrational, he was right but insufferable and infuriating. He hovered, she exploded. He cried, that incensed her more, ‘til she heard his words of loss, those he mourned, the children who had filled his arms and hearts before. He’d sworn never again, never thinking the chance would be granted him, the possibility. Hope wasn’t something he allowed for himself, that was for other people, and here he was and here she was and then.....He spoke about them all, showed her the pictures he’d hidden away, the ones the TARDIS, keeper of memories, ones he long since claimed to have deleted or forgotten. That was his curse, he remembered everything. And he lied, he always lied.

He loved too easily, too often and not enough. Loving and losing the one raised to kill him, before he really knew her, his Impossible Girl, born to save him. All the others...

If he couldn’t have his family, he could have hers. It had been a good idea.....

 

To be continued

**Author's Note:**

> As always, and for ever, I thrive on feedback (and drabble prompts - find me on tumblr, email me, send carrier pigeons)
> 
> If you hated this - please tell me (especially if its the pregnancy thing, would love to know why)
> 
> Loved this - please tell me
> 
> Really loved this - please share


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